The Tale of Sudhendra Vahl: The Hunter's Moons Options

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There was a hammering on my door this morn and, feeling a little bleary-eyed after last night’s festivities, I threw on a robe and went to see who was there. Outside stood a tall, fair-haired woman with brilliant blue eyes. She was carrying a huge pail, from which rose an appetising smell. Bobbing a curtsey, she stepped inside and walked to the table in the corner. Fetching a bowl from the shelf, she removed the cover from the pail and ladled a grey coloured gruel into the earthenware bowl. “Will ye be having the salt or the honey wi’ yer porridge?” she asked.

“Honey,” I replied, nonplussed. With a smile, she fetched a small wooden box from her apron and, opening it, she scraped a thick curl of honey from the comb inside and dumped it into the steaming gruel. Taking a spoon, I sat and tentatively tasted the stuff. The smell hadn’t lied ~ despite its unappealing appearance, the ‘porridge’ was very pleasant. A thick mixture of some grain and milk, boiled until it was thick and glutinous.

“I have messages for ye,” the woman said. With my mouth full, I indicated with my spoon that she should speak. “The Shaman wishes ye tae see, at your earliest convenience. An’ Snedbrir the Blacksmith has that you visit him asked.”

“Thank you…” I said, raising an eyebrow.

“Anyanka,” she replied, blushing slightly before beating a hasty retreat. As the door shut behind her, I scraped the bowl clean of the last traces of its contents and sat back with a sigh. Since the blacksmith’s forge was closest to Rigmor’s… my house, I decided to visit there first.

“Bloodskaal,” Snedbrir said, setting down his hammer as I stepped into the workshop at the back of his hut. “I have for you something more fitting than the furs ye’re wearing.”

I noticed my Templar armour sitting on a bench. The blacksmith had hammered out the few dents it had picked up and polished it until it gleamed. This, however, was not what Snedbrir meant. Beside the forge was a form, a simple block of wood carved into the rough likeness of a human figure. Adorning this mannequin was a set of armour. Made of a silvery-coloured metal, the tiny interlocking rings glistened in the light of the forge. Elsewhere, beaten panels of solid metal had been worked into various designs ~ swirls and knots predominantly, but there was a scene on the shield that ~ on closer examination ~ showed a stylised Dunmer battling a wolf-like creature.

“My Gods, it’s beautiful,” I breathed as Snedbrir lifted the ring-mail cuirass from the wooden form and helped me into it. It was quite a bit heavier than the Templar armour, but not so heavy that it would cause me a problem. The shimmering links of chainmail flowed like heavy water as I moved. In addition to the long cuirass, there was a pair of greaves, a pair of boots, gauntlets, pauldrons, and a massive helm. The huge, square shield completed the equipment.

Clad in my Skaal armour ~ shield slung across my back in imitation of the Skaal guards, I stepped outside ~ slipping the short silver-blades that I seemed to have inherited into the sheaths that Snedbrir had affixed to the belt. I wished that I had a reflecting glass but the admiring glances of the guards as I walked passed them told me how good the armour looked. Korst seemed quite impressed as I stepped into his hut, nodding his approval.

“A true warrior o’ the Skaal ye now look,” he said. We sat, and Korst told me that he feared that Tharsten Heart-Fang had met a similar fate to Captain Falx Carius. I got the impression that Korst Wind-Eye knew far more about what was going on that he would, or was willing to, tell me. Worried that pressing for an answer might offend the Shaman; I listened as he detailed what needed to be done.

“Afore he went an’ vanished, Tharsten was tae speak wi’ ye about something that needed tae be done. Did he?” I shook my head and Korst sighed. “So, a ceremony there is that we need tae perform. This ceremony is called the Ristaag. I have my suspicions about the threat we’re facing but the Ristaag will confirm it. There is a wee problem. Afore we can the Ristaag perform, we have need o’ a token o’ the Skaal. ‘Tis a necklace, simple leather wi’ a wolf-fang an’ a bear-claw on it.

“‘T’will take a fierce warrior tae get the Totem from Skaalara,” he continued, “and 'tis you that I’m sure should go. It cannae be coincidence that ye here should arrive just as these strange events start tae happen…”

“If you’re implying…” I said, cutting across what he was saying. “…That I had anything to do with whatever is going on…”

“Whist,” he said, dismissing my interjection with a wave of his hand, “the cause o’ the events? I think not. But the trigger that started these events: aye that ye may be. An’ for that reason, ‘tis you who should fetch the Totem of Fang and Claw from Skaalara.”

“What events?” I asked. The Shaman sat, lost in thought for a moment, and then responded to my question.

“Some ~ the disappearance o’ Tharsten an’ your Captain Carius, the sudden appearance o’ so many werewolves, the flames on the open ice ~ ye ken already. Some, such as the unquiet dead, ye dinnae know anything about. There are others that I will nae discuss wi’ ye at this time. Others have not yet come to pass and, askin' the One’s favour, willnae.”

“Unquiet dead?” I asked.

“There have reports been,” he said, “o’ the walking dead near tae Telos Rin. I’m no convinced that these have anything tae do wi’ the Blood…” he stopped suddenly. “Anything tae do wi’ the problems we’re facing,” he concluded. “Ye may want tae look into it. Telos Rin is down by the coast, speak tae the caretaker if ye’ve a mind tae investigate.”

Finding Telos Rin wasn’t difficult, I just headed over the edge off the hill and down towards the shoreline. The caretaker was a thin Nord named Fjolfr Brown-Eyes. He seemed to think that there are catacombs below the tombs but he knew very little about the recent disturbances: in fact, he asked me to report back to him if I discovered anything about them. With Fjolfr’s blessing, I entered the dark Barrow that housed the tombs of the Skaal.

The Barrow was quite small, just four chambers branching off from the main entrance. In one of the chambers, I discovered a Dragon-Slayer blade ~ a heavy, two-handed sword of the sort favoured by the legendary warrior Kilgarn. Despite its unwieldy size, I took this ancient blade ~ even if I cannot use it, it will make an excellent addition to my growing collection of artefacts. In one of the side-tombs I discovered a hidden door that led down into the catacombs below the Barrow.

A short, snowy passageway hacked into the ice led down to another set of chambers. The grey stone walls stretched away in front of me, broken on the left by a passageway. Deciding to head down the short passageway, I quickly found myself in a central burial chamber. The mouldering corpse that had been chained to the pillar of stone directly opposite the entrance to the crypt gave me pause for thought ~ as did the note affixed to its grinning head:

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Be Warned:

All who seek their fortunes amongst the remains of the dead shall find only remorse.  I will no longer stand by and let my family's remains be pawed over by mere thieves.  Leave this place, and remove nothing, lest fate deal with you as it has those who've come before you.

Above all else - do not approach the resting places of these honored warriors.  

You have been warned.



Melos Rin

Son of Felos "Bear Kin"

6th Year Necromancer

Well, you might as well wave a sword at a Nordic warrior as put something like that on a note in a crypt. Any self-respecting thief, rogue, or adventurer is going to be compelled to examine the contents of the tomb after a warning like that. I was no exception. The fluttering banner identified the scattered bones in the first niche as Felos Bear-Kin. Arrayed by the shelf were some fur-covered armour (from the bear’s head helm I guess that this was bearskin), a large, double-headed Nordic axe, and a small stone chest. This stone box yielded up five ten-Septim pieces.

Since nothing untoward had happened when I’d taken the coins, I moved around the chamber to the second niche. The rotting banner identified these bones as having been one Kelos Keen-Eye. Now this was more like it: there was a demon-bound longbow, three pieces of armour, and a chest containing ten five-Septim pieces. Touching the box seemed to trigger some form of summoning spell, there was a clatter of bone behind me and I turned to face three skeletal warriors armed with axes.

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The morning meal today was thick steaks of some dark meat. Suspecting that it was the remains of the Great Beast, I ate sparingly. Korst turned up just as I was finishing up. “We have much tae discuss, Bloodskaal,” were his opening words.

“E’en though the Ristaag is completed, I have disturbing reports received,” he said, sitting opposite me. “Tales o’ hundreds o’ dead Horkers on the northern shores. I hope ‘tis the work o’ Karstaag but I dinnae ken why he’d butcher so many o’ them.”

“Karstaag?” I asked.

“Aye, Karstaag is a frost giant,” Korst explained. “He has his castle tae the northwest o’ here. His people, the Rieklings, and ours have lived peaceably for many years. ‘Tis possible that this slaughter is the work o’ the Rieklings but, as I said, I dinnae ken why this would be so. ‘Tis my fear that the time o’ the BloodMoon is upon us.”

“You started to mention the Blood Moon the other night,” I said. “If you want me to investigate the death of the Horkers…” here the Shaman nodded “…then perhaps you’d better tell me more about this Blood Moon.”

“An ancient Skaal legend,” he said, looking uncomfortable, “that tells o’ certain signs that appear afore the appearance o’ an ancient evil that stalks the land. Speaks, it does, o’ the lake o’ fire, the tide o’ death, and the hunters hunted.”

“And you think these dead Horkers are the ‘tide of death’?” I asked. He nodded, looking even more miserable that when he’d walked in. “and the pillar of fire on Lake Fjalding could be the ‘lake of fire’,” I mused, “but what about the hunters hunted?”

“I dinnae ken Vahl Dark Elf,” he said.

“Okay,” I said, “I will go to Karstaag’s castle and investigate. While I’m gone, will you continue to research this Blood Moon legend to see if you can glean any more information?”

He nodded, then added, “ye’ll no be able tae enter the castle through the door. However, we have a hidden entrance found, an underwater cave just tae the north o’ the castle.” I sighed, more swimming in these icy waters ~ just what I needed. Korst had one final thing he wished to discuss. He wishes me to learn more of the Skaal magic and, to that end, he has taught me a spell to summon and control a bear.

The journey west was relatively uneventful, a few problems with roaming wolves that I quickly dealt with. As I drew close to the shoreline, I could spell the unmistakable stench of rotting meat. The sight that met me, when I crested the rise, made me feel sick to my stomach. Scattered along the beach were hundreds, nay, thousands of dead Horkers and even more lifeless bodies bobbed on the water. Death tide pretty much summed up what I was seeing. Covering my mouth with cloth, I cut along the top of the ridge, unwilling to descend onto that moribund beach amidst the rotting carcasses.

The glittering ramparts of Karstaag’s ice-castle rose up before me. Although Korst had told me that there was no way to enter the structure via the main door, this didn’t stop me from trying them. A few minutes examination showed me that there was no way to access the building unless the doors were opened from the inside. Since that seemed… unlikely, I levitated up to the roof to see if there was an entrance there I could use. Richer by one massively heavy Daedric pauldron, I levitated back down and made my way to the northern shore. Thankfully there were fewer Horker-corpses here but I still felt distinctly queasy as I entered the water.

I quickly identified the cave entrance and, lungs aching swam down and into the water-filled, upward sloping tunnel. With a gasp I broke the surface of a large still pool, looking around to get my bearings. There was a rocky ledge around the pool and, clambering up onto it, I quickly dried myself and put on my furs and armour. Feeling much more secure (and very much warmer) I made my way around the ledge to the narrow passageway that led up (presumably) to the castle above. I had barely gone ten paces when a tiny figure appeared at the top of the slope.

As the Riekling barrelled down towards me, I cursed my bad luck and drew the Blodskal. “Whoa, whoa,” the Riekling yelled, coming to a stop several paces away and raising its hands placatingly. “No fight Krish bigger, Krish no danger to bigger, Krish want talk to bigger.”

‘Bigger’ I guessed would be me and Krish was the Riekling. With a puzzled frown, I lowered the sword and indicated that the Riekling should continue. “Master gone, missing one-two-three days. With Master gone, Krish thought Krish in charge. But Dulk, he say otherwise. But Dulk not loyal to Master. Dulk make pact with Grahl, seize power, exile Krish this place. But Grahl turn on Dulk, kill most troops. Now Krish down here stuck. Dulk up there stuck, Grahl between us.”

“What do you know about the death of the Horkers?” I asked.

“Krish nothing know. Krish down here been stuck one-two-three days,” was the reply. “Hey. Bigger help Krish, kill Grahl so Krish can to castle get. Krish take bigger to castle. Bigger ask Dulk what Dulk know about tusked-swimmers.”

“What if I just leave Krish here and go by myself?” I asked, not happy with the idea of having a Riekling tagging along with me.

“Ahh,” the Riekling said, “magic barrier. Master invites, you enter. Master no invites, outside you stay. Krish know magic word, open barrier. Bigger take Krish, Krish open barrier. Bigger no take Krish, bigger outside castle can rot.”

Well, that seemed to be an insurmountable problem unless I had this Krish with me. “Lead on,” I said, pointing with my sword. We wandered through the ice tunnels, engaging the Grahl whenever we came across them or, rather, Krish let me fight them while he cowered out of the way. I had fought Grahl before, in the Halls of Penumbra, and I knew that they were slow, stupid, amazingly tough, very strong, and almost completely helpless in the face of fire-based magic. Plus, I had the added pleasure of seeing Krish cringe and flatten himself against the floor every time I fired off a fireball spell. In this manner we progressed up through the maze of tunnels, clearing the way, until we arrived at a shimmering barrier.

Krish, true to his word, extended a tiny hand and led me through the barrier into a large storage area. Where we surprised three Rieklings. These, I guess, were loyal to Dulk because Krish showed no hesitation in attacking them. We continued up a slope and I found that we’d come to a sort of corridor. There stood another Riekling ~ Dulk I presumed.

“Whoa, hold it little feller,” I said, grabbing Krish by the back of his jerkin and yanking the spitting, kicking Riekling up into the air as it rushed towards Dulk. “I need a word with Dulk first, remember. And you,” I added, whipping Blodskal over and resting the tip of the blade on the bridge of Dulk’s nose, “are going to answer my questions, understand?”

Cross-eyed, the Riekling nodded. I asked the question and got the answer I expected, “Dulk know nothing of dead tusked-swimmers. Dulk in charge. Man-beasts appear at door, Master gone. Dulk Master now.”

“Man-beasts?” I asked. “Do you mean werewolves?”

“Wolves outside, that where. Man-beasts here, now gone,” the Riekling responded.

With a shrug, I dropped Krish to the floor where, with a grin up at me, the Riekling produced a large cleaver-shaped weapon and started to stalk Dulk down the corridor. Leaving them to it, I explored Castle Karstaag. I soon found ample evidence of Karstaag’s bestial appetites ~ mounds of scattered and gnawed human bones littered many of the chambers. I also found quite a large sum of coinage, a teal Ioun stone and a few other useful trinkets.

“Me master!” Dulk crowed exultantly, rushing into the bedchamber I was exploring. “Krish dead. Dulk Master!”

“Master of what?” I asked. “An empty castle filled with dead bodies and a stretch of beach filled with stinking corpses?”

“But Dulk Master,” the Riekling said, although there was a great deal less conviction in its voice.

“No,” I said, whipping the Blodskal across in a vicious arc, “Dulk dead.”

“Karstaag gone, by werewolves was taken?” Korst Wind-Eye said when I reported back to him. “And him not responsible for the dead Horkers. I fear there are bad times ahead Vahl Dark Elf, and that the BloodMoon prophesy is coming true. Come, let us the moons watch rise.”

Nor were we the only ones outside watching as Masser and Secunda rose. The whole village stood there, watching as the horizon darkened as night fell and the stars came out. Then the moons rose ~ blood red and full. There was a moan from the assembled Skaal. “Bad, this is very bad,” Korst groaned. “The prophecy comes true and now is the time of the Hunter’s Game. Run, hide, lock your doors ~ the Hunter’s Game begins.”

As the Skaal scattered back to their huts, I jogged beside Korst as we travelled towards his hut. “What’s the Hunter’s Game?” I asked.

“The legend,” Korst replied, ushering me inside, “says that from the ranks of Man, the Hunter will choose his prey. Every age of Man, the Hunter comes ~ who he chooses and how many are every time different.” He dragged a heavy chest out of the corner and after opening it, began throwing various items on the floor until, with a cry of triumph, he produced a wrapped bundle. “Here, I fear these you’ll need,” he said, extending the bundle. Taking it, I set it upon the table and opened it, taking a sharp breath as I examined the contents.

Two gleaming silver swords glistened softly in the lamplight. Slightly longer than the short-swords I’d been using, the blades had a slight curve to them and were razor-sharp along both edges. Each blade was etched with deep-set Nordic runes, and fine silver wire held the black leather grip in place. The pommel of each sword was carved, one in the likeness of a snarling wolf, the other in the likeness of a bear. Each sang softly, a shimmering chorus of ancient magic. Gentle probing revealed that each bore a powerful enchantment of fire. “Fang and Claw,” Korst said as I lifted the blades from their wrapper and slashed them experimentally through the air, “ancient blades of the Skaal. These I gift to you Vahl Dark Elf.”

I was puzzled by the sadness in Korst’s voice but, before I could even start to get to the bottom of it, the Shaman was urging me to get back to my hut ~ saying it wasn’t safe for anyone to be out alone. Slipping the blades into their leather scabbards, I wrapped them carefully in the oiled parchment and carried them back to my abode…

I cannot say what caused me to jerk awake, or what Hour it was. What I did know was that snarling werewolves surrounded my bed…